


Share

by winwinism



Category: The Broken Earth Series - N. K. Jemisin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinism/pseuds/winwinism
Summary: Syenite has a pleasant dream, and learns to share.
Relationships: Alabaster/Damaya | Essun | Syenite/Innon
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Share

The people of Meov share a lot of things that people of Yumenes don’t. They pass around tokens from raids rather than possessing them, borrow and give up clothing freely when asked. They bathe together fearlessly, cook the entire island’s meals on a well-oiled rotation system in which even the leaders take part. The women suckle each others’ children, when necessary, and they’re raised in groups, their caretakers affording each the affection they would their own. Syenite gets a sense of openness and freedom that’s utterly foreign to her--and that’s _before_ she starts to understand the dirty jokes that the old ladies tell her. They truly have no shame. 

Though, she supposes there’s no use in shame when they live atop a hot spot amid an ocean that roils with hatred for humankind. They could, more than anyone in Yumenes, literally die any minute. If the joke is good, may as well tell it. 

There’s another thing she notices, during the communal evening meals. As open and loving as the comm may be, there’s a pattern to their seating arrangements. A family here, a knot of friends there. A couple, leaning into each other. But not just couples. She sees trios, a group of four--laughing against each other, then going soft and still, exuding intimacy in a way that’s unmistakeable. She sees how some of these--groupings--place food in each others’ mouths and steal kisses when they think no one’s watching. But Syen is watching, soaking up the people of her new home by firelight. 

She wonders about these arrangements, and considers asking--rather, asking Alabaster to ask, which is almost too embarrassing to contemplate--but decides against it. She’s still an outsider, after all. Her language barrier-hindered inferences will have to suffice. 

With these in mind, she tries to wrangle together some semblance of context for Innon--and with long days devoid of anything to do but a few chores here and there, she can get in plenty of trying. She and Alabaster are hardly doting on each other over seafood stew, but Innon has nonetheless proposed that they _share_. And so they have. 

But Innon _is_ a pirate king, she supposes. He plunders to survive, but always brings back spoils that go above and beyond. His appetites must be large. And Syen lets him guide their peculiar arrangement into existence, because she, too, has an appetite to satisfy. 

Syen dreams first of falling up through a dark shaft, mantle and rock flying past her towards a pinprick of light. She dreams that the earth explodes, magma spilling out and toxic gases billowing into the air amid flames and smoke that chokes every lung that breathes it. She hears screams. Guilt crushes her like so many pieces of broken earth. 

She’s had these dreams almost every night since the stone eater brought them here. They’re almost boring by now. What can she do? Nothing. The blot on the horizon that was once Allia will burn away whether she hates herself or not. 

So she lets herself fall, until the images fall away and she collapses upward into warmth. 

In sleep, Syen curls a hand against her bare chest, and the knots in her forehead smooth out. The dream shifts. And--oh. 

Warmth blossoms in her, and she’s surrounded by it, like the softest of down. Syen makes a nasal sound of satisfaction and settles into her soft, cloud-like surroundings, luxuriates in them. 

A heavy _something_ settles across her front like a weighted blanket. But it’s not inert--the weight melds against her and moves, insistent, cupping her breasts and dipping between her thighs. Syen gasps. It’s not unwelcome. The exact opposite. This formless, searching weight is just what she craved but didn’t know it. The weight curls and cradles her spine as she arches up, spreading over her shoulders and tickling her collarbones. It kisses her neck, drawing her legs apart with slow inevitability, and she does not resist. She lets them fall open and _thrills_. 

The form has hands, suddenly, and their heaviness is familiar on the bulk of her thighs. She knows who this is--if this idealized sensuality is modelled off of anything besides her imagination. But she does not look, because she doesn’t have to. She looks skyward and waits for pleasure to come. 

Syen wakes with a sharp inhale. She blinks her eyes open to greet darkness and a relative sense of cold that makes her stomach clench. The cold fades after a moment, because she isn’t, after all. She’s in bed. 

The headman of Meov has a large, sturdy, but comfortable mattress--winnings from a long-ago raid--strung from the stony ceiling in an intricate rope hammock. Blankets of cured furs cradle her naked form with their familiar softness. Yes, naked. They hadn’t even had sex last night, but it’s become a habit. 

Below the weight of the blankets is another: sturdier, distinctively less soft, and cinched around her middle like she’s in danger of falling off, or bolting away in the middle of the night. Syen’s face grows warm. 

Innon massive form sleeps curled against her back, hugging her close with one thickly muscled arm--enough that she can feel him through the dip in the mattress and every degree of body heat, but just short of pressing his body against hers. She can feel his breath against her nape, low and heavy. But it’s different, somehow. Her sleep-drunk mind ponders this clumsily for a moment, then she realizes. He’s awake, too. 

She shifts on the mattress, as much as she is able in Innon’s iron grip, and the arm loosens a little as if realizing this, but doesn’t give way entirely. She cranes her neck back, searching for Innon’s eyes in the darkness. His dark eyes glint on the low, distant light that filters through the thinly-curtained windows, inches from hers, and something inside Syen thrums. She’s a little irritated for having woken up. There’s still something she craves. 

“Had a good dream?” he murmurs, quieter than she’s ever heard him. She stares for a moment, caught on the low rumble of his voice, before she registers his meaning.

“How did you know?” she whispers. She can hear Alabaster’s sleep-steady breathing just beyond Innon; and for all that she can’t stand the man, she’s not rude enough to wake him unnecessarily. 

Innon expels air out of his noise in what might be a laugh. “You were moaning,” he says, his amusement plain, and ah. The blood in Syen’s face heats further. 

“Sorry if I woke you,” Syen grumbles. She moves to turn back around, but the arm around her waist tightens, suddenly, and Innon makes a throaty noise of protest. She really can’t stop her rising flush. Innon has never held her like this outside of their...activities, not that she’s noticed. 

“Sorry?” Innon echoes. “I’m glad you woke me. I’d hate to have missed it.” 

He shifts closer, rocking the bed slightly with his momentum, and nuzzles against the back of her neck, splays his hand over her stomach and caresses it slightly. 

“Syen,” he begins, with the same tone of voice he uses to proposition her--always so polite. She twists her neck and kisses him before he can finish. 

If his touches were stoking the fire, his lips are a bolt straight to her abdomen. His mouth is full and soft, enough that she doesn’t mind the scrape of his roughly-shaven beard. (She knows it’s a rough job. She did it for him just yesterday. Almost served as foreplay, but they were interrupted.) He kisses with a restraint that Syen grows to resent almost immediately as his big hand strokes heavily up and down her side, teasing over the curve of her hip. 

She starts to reach for him, turn to face him more fully, but she stops herself. 

“Alabaster,” she mumbles out, dragging herself away with supreme willpower. Innon blinks at her in the near-blackness. 

“What about him?” 

Rust if he’s going to make her spell it out. She and Alabaster have been...sharing, yes. They sleep in the same bed. Innon has fucked the both of them well enough to ruin. Not at the same time, though (a mechanical impossibility, unless they got creative--not that Syen has thought about it), nor while they were in the same bed. 

Syen has no problem with this, she thinks. It’s not like Alabaster would get anything out of it, as she’s fairly certain he’s not into women; and Syen isn’t attracted to Alabaster, either. There’s no reason to try and force anything. 

This isn’t forcing it, something in Syen pipes up inconveniently. She squashes it. 

“Won’t he mind?” she whispers through her teeth. Maybe she’s imagining it, but she thinks she sees him smile. 

“He wouldn’t,” Innon says. “We’ve spoken.” 

“About what?”

“Broadly?” He hums, and Syen can almost feel the vibrations. “He’s quite taken with the idea of sharing.” Innon’s hand dips below her waist again, ghosting past the molten heat slowly building in her center and gripping her thigh. 

Syen fights a shiver. “He’s sleeping.” The words sound weak to her ears. 

“Ah,” Innon says, and that’s definitely a smile in his voice; “then we’ll have to be quiet, then, won’t we?” 

Innon has proven surprisingly adept at that, since they’ve begun their little arrangement. She’s more worried about herself. 

Before she can turn over to face him properly, Innon sidles closer to finally line his body against the curve of her back. A shocked breath punches out of her at the heat of skin-on-skin, hard lines of muscle pressed against her spine--and there, below, something harder. Her eyes pop open. 

“The sounds you make,” Innon hums against her hair, “when you’re not controlling yourself. Cannot be compared.” He grinds his hips slow against her ass, his hard cock sliding teasing between the swells. Syen’s clit throbs, and she squeezes her legs together against the feeling. 

“Orogenes need control,” she whispers, then fights the urge to slap herself. Trust her to kill the mood by bringing up orogeny in _bed_. Innon makes another muted sound of amusement. 

“I know.” His hand slides up, teasing, then grips her right breast. His hand swallows her up, she fights the urge to jerk when his calloused thumb sweeps over her nipple. “You control yourself so well. But when you don’t…” He ducks his head and mouths over her nape--until he finds a good spot and bites. The tiniest sound escapes Syen before she stifles it. “Beautiful.” 

“You need control, too,” she whispers in a tight voice, before she can think better of it. “Or you’ll cause a shake next time you cum.” 

There’s no mistaking Innon’s laugh, then. “That’s why we have Alabaster, no? Any shake I’d cause, he could quell in his sleep.” He kisses over the bite mark and hums, contemplative. “And you.” 

And Syen. Whom Innon seems to think is just as strong as Alabaster, even though that’s ridiculous. If he thinks flattering her orogeny will get him laid, well, it’s unnecessary. “Sure,” she says instead. She blanks her mind and arches against him, revels in the slow slide of his precum-wet cock against her backside. Alabaster’s breath goes heavy in response, hand flexing on her thigh. Then he draws inward, cupping thick fingers over her mound and massaging gently downwards. 

Syen bites her lip, held taut in anticipation, when he dips his middle and index finger into the sticky wetness of her vulva. She quivers like a plucked string, lets out a shaky sigh. 

“So wet,” Innon murmurs against her neck. He strokes over her vulva languidly, gathering her wetness on his fingers and not doing much else. Syen thinks she hears him lick his lips. “What kind of dream did you have, hmm?”

“Guess,” Syen says on a weak sigh. She wriggles under his touch, trying to get his fingers to go where she wants, but then he draws his hand away entirely. She bites back a sound of protest and swivels to watch him, through eyes only barely adjusted to the dark, bring his fingers to his lips and lick them clean. 

Innon draws his fingers free with a wet _pop_ and smiles. The white of his teeth is unmistakable. “The way you taste,” he muses quietly, blindingly free of shame, “s’ good enough to make a man fall in love.”

Syen’s heart stutters. “Then why haven’t you?”

Innon hums at this. He wastes no time in pulling her hips back against his and resuming his teasing, though this time with an appreciated pace. “Who says I haven’t?” he wonders. He parts her lips with two fingers and draws a scorching line down the center of her cunt. 

Syen bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. Somehow, Innon senses this, or perhaps he just wants more, because he coils his other arm around her neck and pulls her head back towards him, bringing their lips together as he starts to finger her in earnest. 

He kisses her deeply, now, insistent and searching as he lavishes his attention over her folds and teases his calloused thumb over her clit. The rough texture is almost too much, yet not enough at the same time. Innon is nothing like her own fingers, like the toys she’s encountered or the other men she’s been with. Better than any of them. She sucks in desperate breaths through her nose and drinks in the rich spices he perfumes himself with, a real worldly musk. 

Syen can feel the heat of him against her spine. He must want her so badly--it thrills her more than any exercise of orogenic power (well, almost). Her mind trips over itself at the possibilities. He could fingerfuck to her completion now, fuck her while she’s still sensitive. Or he could finish her off while she’s--while he’s inside. 

“Fuck me,” she whispers against his saliva-wet lips. “Like this.” 

Innon’s cock throbs enough that she can feel it. She’s not always so vulgar. But time is of the essence--she can feel herself near the brink of orgasm; and while Alabaster may sleep like the dead, she doubts they could go at this forever without him noticing. 

But would it matter? If he noticed?

“Of course, sweetheart.” Innon presses the words into her jaw and teases two fingers into her entrance. Her walls flutter and cinch around him as he slips into her; Syen gasps, more girlishly than she’s proud of. “Anything you want.”

He warms her up with his fingers as a courtesy. They’ve done it enough times that she knows what he’s like. Intellectually, she does. She knows that--well. He’s a big man. In many ways. 

Innon thrusts his fingers in and out of her, avoiding her G-spot just enough to frustrate her. Slips in a third, like that will make much difference. She curls her hands into the mattress and grits her teeth against the soft moans brimming in her throat. 

“Ready for me, Syen?” Innon rumbles against her neck. She grinds her hips onto his hand in lieu of responding, and he withdraws--it’s a relief, but also a terrible emptiness. The hot coil in her abdomen loosens minutely. 

Innon inches back to grasp himself, slicking his cock up in his own precum and Syen’s juices with a wet slide she can hear rather than see. Then he’s wrapping a hand around her thigh and spreading her, letting the cool air rush against her naked cunt, just enough that Innon can thrust between her thighs and gloss the head of his cock over her folds, spilling heat directly into her core. And _fuck_. 

He lets her thigh fall back, sealing him in with what must be delicious pressure--enough to get him off, surely. They could do it like this. Innon rolls his hips as if agreeing, and the nudge of his cock against her clit makes Syen moan. She only clamps a hand over her mouth after it’s out, but she can hardly think to care. Her awareness has narrowed to the points where they touch--the hand on her hip, his chest against her back, his dick. 

Syen wants more. The girth of him between her thighs makes her head stop and start, but she wants to be _full_. 

“Quit teasing and fuck me,” Syen hisses, and Innon makes another quiet sound of amusement. Like he’s not gasping out his own pressure all over her nape. She curves her spine and spreads her thighs in invitation. 

Innon bends to kiss her shoulder, so she can feel it when he smiles. He smiles as he grasps his cock and presses the head against her entrance, kisses her again. Dry and chaste, an absurd contrast to the pressure of his slick cockhead splitting her open--but she takes it, impossibly, her walls welcoming him easily even as her lungs hollow out and her head spins. 

“Fuck,” she grits out, and then: “ _More_.” 

Innon pulls her in by the waist, complying with a slow grind of his hips. He’s such an obedient lover. So terribly observant and caring. There’s not a shadow of doubt that he’s ruined her. 

Syen is only beginning to adjust to the sensation of fullness when Alabaster stirs. 

Maybe he’s been awake for a while. Probably has. They’re only in the same bed. Syen blinks and tries, distantly, to process this as she senses the third presence in the room shift and sit up. 

“Having fun without me?” comes that stupid, sleep-bleary voice. This cuts through Syen’s haze of blistering arousal and triggers a series of emotions: irritation, a mild sense of failure, embarrassment. She’s not sure how to process the last one. 

So she speaks, because that means she doesn’t have to think.

“What’s it look like?” she snaps. Innon begins to pull out, but she clenches down on him almost without meaning to. 

“I can’t see very well,” Alabaster replies, “but the noises you’re making are rather incriminating.” 

“Sorry,” Syen begins to spit, though she’s not sorry at all--but Innon speaks at the same time. 

“Do you mind?” he asks, serene as ever. 

Syen cranes her neck back when there’s no immediate response. She can make out Alabaster’s figure, sitting up on criss-crossed legs and almost certainly watching them. Watching her. 

Something in her burns. She doesn’t like this feeling, whatever it is. She just wants to get fucked in a bed with a man she might love and one she (almost always, unless conditions are just so) can’t stand. Is that so hard? 

“I don’t,” comes Alabaster’s response. He sounds carefully aloof, as if he’s hiding something. “Just making my awareness known. Thought I should.”

Innon huffs. “Good, then.” 

He curls over Syen again, propping himself up on his opposite arm, and guides his cock back inside. The stretch is even easier now, wetter. Syen doesn’t hear Alabaster lie down. 

It would be ridiculous for her to claim modesty around a man she’s had heaps of mediocre sex with, one whom she now-regularly sleeps with naked. But this is different, isn’t it? 

This, she enjoys. 

Innon fucks back inside her and punches out the air in her lungs, seemingly unconcerned until he leans close and whispers, “Okay, Syen?”

She nods jerkily. “Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.” There’s a smile in his voice. The words sear her and make her spine bend, perfectly timed as he begins to thrust, shallowly at first, then slow and deep. He grapples along her belly, her breasts and pants along her nape. 

Syen spirals. It’s a miracle that she can take him like this. Seems like it should be, no matter how much practice she’s gotten in. It’s no wonder she sometimes gets dirty looks from certain other Meovites--they want him, they all do, because of course they do. How could they not? But she suspects it’s only the ones who’ve fucked him who resent her. Maybe he ruined them, too. 

Syen doesn’t think about this. Or about Alabaster. It fades into the background of the pound of her heart and the choked-off gasps in her throat and the rhythmic, wet sound of Innon fucking her like he’s not chasing a quick early-morning high, but like he means to savor her. 

“You’re a fucking tease,” Alabaster says, and Syen almost makes a confused query as to the sound’s origin.

“You’re impatient,” Innon huffs out. “Syen, though…” He angles his hips just so and slams his cock past that little clutch of nerves--and Syen cries out, her voice going high and nasal. 

Her hands scrabble over the mattress as he rolls her over, murmuring something that only brushes faintly past Syen’s awareness, and lifts himself onto his knees, pulling her hips up to meet him. Like this, his thrusts are deeper and more fluid, shuddering her entire body. His fingers tighten on her waist, his little punched-out breaths coming heavier and less restrained. 

She’s never done it on her hands and knees. She thought it would be strange, humiliating. 

“ _Harder_ ,” she grits out. “ _Fuck_ me.”

Innon snaps his hips against her, nearly shunting her up the bed if it weren’t for his iron grip. 

She twists her head to scowl weakly back at him, but what she sees blanks the thought from her mind at once. 

Alabaster sits even closer to Innon, now. She watches as he drapes an arm around Innon’s opposite shoulder and pulls him in; and Innon goes easily. He meets Alabaster with an open mouth and without missing a beat, the whites of his eyes disappearing as they flutter shut. Syen gapes, then has to close her own eyes as a surge of pleasure overwhelms her. She’s so close. What are they doing? She can’t think about it. 

She’s seen them kiss before. Nothing meant as foreplay, mostly soft and chaste. But they still make a striking contrast, Alabaster’s lean, gangly frame so easily swallowed up by Innon’s. 

Alabaster’s about the same height as her, though she far exceeds him in bulk. Perhaps they make a similar pair. The idea of being small compared to a lover has never appealed to her, but perhaps now--

“Innon,” she says. She reaches back to tap her own thigh, insistent enough that he takes notice and pulls out of her, leaving her dripping and empty. She wriggles around so that she lies on the bed-belly up, knees pulled up on either side with Innon between them. He stares down at her, cock in hand and with Alabaster’s arms draped around him as he, too, stares. 

Good, she thinks. Let’s give each other a show. 

“Fuck me,” she urges Innon, lifting her hips. He grins. 

He re-enters her easily, and the new angle is refreshingly, terribly good. Syen cranes her neck back into the pillow before she remembers--she wants to watch. But Alabaster hasn’t tried to kiss Innon again. His eyes are fixed on Syen, on the place where she and Innon meet. 

Holy shit, something in Syen breathes. Her cunt physically pulses at the realization. She has no time to analyze where that came from as Innon fucks her more fervently, caught up in the need for his own release. Alaster feels Innon up almost absently, fingers digging into the meat of his pecs, watching Syen with a gaze that burns. 

Then it’s Innon who initiates--he frees up Syen’s hip and grabs Alabaster by the jaw, pulls him in to kiss him open-mouthed and dirty. He looks like no less than a king in that moment, hips rolling smoothly as he wrenches Alabaster’s attention back to him. Her eyes dip, and she notices that Alabaster’s hard. Not like she hasn’t seen that before. This is different, though. 

He juts up against Innon’s hip, chases the friction with aborted little thrusts until Innon releases Alabaster’s jaw and wraps his hand around him. Alabaster’s not exactly poorly-endowed, but Innon’s hand dwarfs him almost comically. Alabaster makes a sound Syen has never heard him make in all their time together--something pleading, desperate, completely unbecoming of a ten-ringer twice her age. He gasps, knocking his forehead against Innon’s. 

The scene boils itself into Syen’s mind, driving up the pressure in her abdomen in a way that she can’t begin to understand--then Innon’s eyes slide down to her. His lips curve around a smile, and he brings a hand to the place where his cock splits her open. He doesn’t need to look. He thumbs unerringly over her clit, timing it with a vicious thrust, and that’s it. It’s all the permission her body needs to cum. 

Her eyes shutter as she arches back, pleasure exploding in a deliriously slow shockwave over her body. She opens her eyes and sees white, chokes out something wordless. Innon fucks her through it, hot and thick at her core, and it only suspends her further. 

“Holy Earth,” she hears herself say. 

Syen comes back to herself, feeling jelled-out in every limb (it was only _one_ orgasm, for Earth’s sake), as Innon’s thrusts start to stutter. He pulls out, and she whines at the sensation of emptiness. 

Innon hisses an Eturpic curse and collapses over her, abandoning Alabaster to plant a hand on the mattress beside her shoulder and another around his cock. His braids fall around his face, and his mouth hangs open, curved on a smile. “You’re so good, Syenite,” he rasps. “So, so beautiful.” 

She reels him in by the neck and kisses him. Her lips are so sensitized that touching his sends a bolt of interest straight to her pussy, like she wants to go for more. They should. He should cum inside her, not on her belly or in his hand or something pathetic like that. Put a baby in her, like Alabaster’s been trying and failing to do for months. She wouldn’t be opposed. She might want that. Right now, at least, she does--badly. 

So Syen drags herself away and hisses it in his ear like some kind of mistress from a bad pornographic novel: “Cum inside me, Innon.” Except she means it, can feel her guts twisting with the raw honesty and _need_ as the words leave her lips. But Innon’s eyes only widen. He jolts above her, the slick sounds of his hand on his cock losing rhythm as he starts and cums, expelling his release on her stomach and tits, with a shocked-open stare. 

She wishes they’d put a light on, once they knew Alabaster was up. She loves the way he looks when he cums. 

But it’s not like she’s going anywhere. She’ll have ample opportunity to observe, if she wants. 

Behind Innon, Alabaster makes a muffled sound of release into the hand clamped over his mouth, thin-fingered hand working his own dick as he watches. Syen watches Alabaster in return with a detached, strangely soft gaze. Even in the piss-poor lighting, she can sense a vulnerability in him that’s new. He, too, enjoyed this. 

Her gaze floats down to Innon. He grins at her, breath steadying, and presses a kiss to her jaw. 

“That was good,” he rumbles. Syen can only manage a faint hum of agreement. 

Innon lifts himself upright and turns to kiss Alabaster as well. Syen remembers how he’d tasted her cunt with that mouth earlier and flushes inexplicably. Innon hums his satisfaction into Alabaster’s lips, then pats his cheek. Alabaster looks almost adorably flustered as he sits back on his heels. Then Innon slips off the bed, murmuring about fetching a rag to clean the both of them up. 

He digs into one of the chests on the other side of the room for only a minute, but Alabaster takes this opportunity to slide closer to Syen, bending down hesitantly. Syen’s brow knits in confusion, praying he isn’t about to, well, make it weird--she doesn’t know how it could be weirder--but he only kisses her forehead. Once, and with a slow enough approach that she could’ve stopped him. She doesn’t. It’s weird, but she blinks up at him in the dark, and finds she doesn’t mind it. 

Alabaster’s gaze darts over to Innon, then back. “Do you love him?” he asks in a soft voice. 

Syen swallows. Her throat feels very dry--she should ask Innon to get some water, while he’s at it. “I might,” she admits. 

Alabaster is silent for a moment. He nods, once. 

“Do you want this?” he asks finally. 

What _this_ is hangs between them unspoken, but Syen thinks she understands. She’s beginning to understand what it could mean. Only the perimeter of it, not with all of the details fleshed out. But she thinks of the trios and little loops of lovers she’s seen around the campfire, and knows that it’s possible, somehow. 

She might be foolish. But she’s done worse things. 

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even get to open her mouth before Innon straightens and turns back towards them with a smile. He’s lit a candle and brings it to the bedside, placing it on one of the windows so that its light flickers and spills across the stone cavern they call home. Syen curls her legs underneath her and welcomes him back into bed with her arms. 

Only the earliest fingers of dawn reach over the horizon, now, and the little island comm carved into the cliffside is still cloaked in darkness. They have a couple more hours to sleep before they’re called to their respective chores and duties, and perhaps later, by firelight or by an idle hour or two, they’ll talk more. 

Now, they take care of each other quietly. They rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/winwinism) if you didn't hate this.


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